


The Fear of Flying

by followbutterfly



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Slash, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:46:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followbutterfly/pseuds/followbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the divorce, Erik was flying back to his hometown, thinking about how his life could have been with Magda. Then a man sitting next to him, asked for something Erik didn't expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fear of Flying

**Author's Note:**

> The plane scene is inspired by the movie, Anomalisa, which is my favorite movie. I hope you enjoy reading this, as much as I do while writing it.

The plane was about to depart. Erik sat back on his seat and exhales. The letter from Magda was in his hand and he remembered every word in sleep. The words were colored with pain.

 

_Erik,_

_You should why it has to end, maybe even sooner than it did. Something about us doesn’t work out or function anymore. Before someone says something that might ruin the other’s life forever, I think I should be the one to end this._

_The fights happened, and the mistakes took place. We will be sinking if we still keep on pushing the paddles. You’re not the one to blame, neither am I, unless you found that this is the fate we choose and have to, ultimately, live up with all decisions after that._

_And I feel sorry for you._

_Yours,_

_Magda_

 

His pulse was beating fast while imprinting her words in his mind, the head whirling with the sound of despair and the question echoing: _why me?_

This is not supposed to be a late thirtieth year old man’s life. This was not how he and Magda, or just him, imagined it to be.

He pushed the letter; the only thing standing for her presence, into his coat pocket and forced back the tears not to tinkling down on his tiring, crumbled and distressing face.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I hold your hand?”

Startled, Erik blinked fast and a single tear quickly drops on his face. The man sitting next to him would see. _No_ , the man just witnessed Erik crying. The blue, vivid eyes went wide, the swollen red lips twitching.

“I’m so, _so_ terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just—“ he shifted uncomfortably in the seat trying to compose himself, averted Erik’s eyes.

Erik didn’t speak, but observed the man’s reaction. He was young, about late twenty and so beautiful like all young men should be: lively, curious and so open to the world.

The other noticed Erik watching him, and was suddenly blushing. His face started turning more and more red competing with his lips’s color, his freckled nose looked more damp and Erik realized he was sweating when he scent of fresh cologne began to presently tickle his nose.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” the man kept saying that with his trembling thick accented voice.

Erik dismissed him by turning his face to the window, seeing the clouds changing shapes and shading with the light of the dusk in the beautiful spectrum.

Then he remembered what the man said to him a minute ago, “what did you say again?”

The man, still looked exasperated, spluttered, “sorry, what?”

“What you do say to me?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no. The first thing you asked me. What did you ask me?”

The man directly looked into his eyes with those beautiful, deep blue eyes. He said, with a low, deep British accent and more steady this time, “do you mind if I hold your hand?”

“What for?”

He took a deep shaking breath, “It’s just—an old habit. I have acrophobia. Being scared of the great height, you know. That’s why I choose the seat away from the window, I just—” Erik thought the man was going to faint, then he controlled himself and said, “I asked anyone sitting next to me for handholding for support or something like that. I dodn’t want you to get upset.”

“I didn’t.”

The other frowned, “well, you seem—” He didn’t mention the cry and Erik was glad he didn’t.

“There,” Erik took the man’s hand himself and held in his hand.

The man stared at both hands with the expression Erik couldn’t dare to look at but he didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m Charles. What’s your name?”

“Erik,” he said and they fell into silence.

For hours the flight couldn’t be described as perfect as when he and Magda had been flying to Canada for honeymoon, but it was-- _not bad_. Erik tried not to look at the man, who looked calmer during the time passed. He also had the uncontrollable soft and floppy hair like the stereotype of some British upper class man Erik had got used to watch on TV with Magda. And she loved them, giggling when the British actor said something charming and witty. Erik would pretend to pout but end up snuggling her on the cheap sofa.

They imagined life like that would be last in an old way, like the sepia picture for those grand children to look at and envy because they want to be like that, growing old and happy and still remain wild like some young couple.

Suddenly, Erik felt the contempt to the hand he was holding. It was a young man’s hand whose chances are unlimited. His future would be so bright surrounded by the loved ones. Erik bet he has a lovely beautiful girlfriend or even a newlywed young wife waiting for him at the airport. His life would stand tall over all the hatred, disappointment and sadness because he will get anything he wants, like he has Erik holding his hand just now—

“Um, Erik?”

The man, Charles, spoke to him and sounded so concerned, or it was just a business-like manner, Erik doubted it.

“Are you alright?”

He hold Charles’s hand a little tighter, “I’m okay. I’m just tired.”

Charles looked directly at him and did what Erik didn’t expect. He reached the other hand to stoke Erik’s, it felt so soft as silk, and warm like the fresh bread as same as the feelings given to Erik from his hair, eyes and cheeks and lips and—

Breathing fast, his pulse began running out again. With all these, it made him missed her so bad and caused a terrible crippled pain clenching inside of his chest.

“It’s okay. I will help you, there.” Without knowing that he started crying again and was unable to stop, Charles gently pulled his head on his own shoulder. And he rubbed against his hair, with a little hum.

It felt _so nice_. Charles’s appearance is not shapely feminine but his voice and his manners are tender. The man was so kind and he let Erik literally cry on his expensive suit and made it soak with his tears.

“It will be alright, my friend.” He whispered, the lips slightly brushing his earlobe and made Erik shiver. “I used to comfort my sister like this since she was being adopted and cried so often for the fear of being abandoned again.”

“How is she?”

Charles chuckled fondly, “The wounded bambie grew up to become a tiger. Now she’s up to standing for herself, flying somewhere else she wants to belong.” He paused, “Now I’m left in the empty nest.”  

Erik couldn’t stop himself, “you won’t be for too long.”

The man’s fingers stopped rubbing his hair, but lingering a while, the hand pressing on Erik’s skull, gently but firmly. “I hope so.”

Erik caught himself smile a little and inhaled the scent of fresh cologne. His head was spinning and he felt a little dizzy, like the first time he saw Magda, with her friends, and her beautiful radiance used to make his eyes so blind and his heart fall deeply.

It might be the time. Erik didn’t know, and wouldn’t want to know when he could do that again: falling. In spite of what had been left for him was the sense of falling into the unknown.

And, like Charles, he feared of flying too. He didn’t know when he could have the courage in lifting himself up to do such that.

He felt the warm hand touching his nape, like a support. He shifted a little into a more comfortable position to fit with Charles’s. Their hearts were syncing.

That time he remembered what the other did, scared and reluctant. Charles just asked Erik to hold his hand and that was something— _something_ that he couldn’t do it by himself, he could just reach out and began to ask.

Then he as carefully and fearfully as he seemed, asked Charles for something nice. The man blinked, so slowly that Erik saw his blue eyes flicking with surprise.

And Charles accepted to offer the warmth to him.

Erik fell again. This time he knew how to do with the fall, and started to fly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
